My Heart Is His
by mumf0rdandsons
Summary: A Johnlock fanfic, told in the point of view of Sherlock Holmes, my first fanfic, please rate/review etc thanks


Okay so this is my very first fanfic, contains spoilers for 2x01

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"Phone, now." Sherlock demanded.

John Watson, his loyal friend, sighed in defeat. He knew Sherlock obviously felt something towards The Woman- as he liked to refer to her- and if this what he wanted as his memory of her, then so be it. After all, it wasn't often that Sherlock finds someone to share emotions with, John thought, feeling a pang of jealousy. To love… Perhaps he never had at all. Sherlock cared for many people, but love? What on earth did this woman do to him to make him feel this way?

John hesitated before outstretching his hand warily, he still was unsure if this was the best decision. He pressed the cold device into Sherlock's warm hands, breathing in his clean, masculine scent. Without warning, Sherlock clasped his hand around John's. He then also tugged at John's hand slightly, which allowed John to stumble forward, so that they were standing a lot closer to each other. The detective could then stare into the gentle blue eyes of Doctor John Watson.

"Sherlock, w-what-" John began weakly, stumbling upon his own words. Sherlock held the gaze, two of his fingers pressed firmly against John's wrist, keeping him there, feeling his pulse; he raised one finger on his other hand to his lips.

"She was right." Sherlock gasped, freeing John from his. He gazed down onto Baker Street as thought swept over him. John's panting awoke him from his daze, to hear him catch the breaths that he had been holding it before.

"Who was right? What was that all about?" John asked incredulously.

"She was right, John. _Her_. The Woman. Irene Adler." Sherlock spun around heel and faced John.

"She not dead actually, you know, John," Ignoring his flatmate's protests, he continued "I saved her. It really is a long story, I don't have the time to recall it, but I became one of the members of the terrorist group, and helped her escape."

"Right, well, um, that's good then." John nodded delicately, in the disbelieving sort of way John Watson does.

"Before she was supposed to die, she sent me a text. It said 'Goodbye Mr Holmes-'" Sherlock stopped and bit his lip. John watched, a lump in his throat, unable to speak, he was still confused and the air was held so thick that he felt Sherlock wanted to continue.

"So, um, what was she right about?" John whispered, his tongue skimming his lips to nervously moisten them. Sherlock watched him approvingly before continuing.

"Ah, dear John, you see. That wasn't the end of the message." He said clearly enjoy this. He slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved the phone, found the text. He then proceeded to take gentle steps forward, a daring smile playing on his lips, his eyes locked on John's. He turned the phone and held it to John's height, reading it aloud.

"Goodbye Mr Holmes. I love you, but your heart is his."

John stared at the phone disbelievingly for a moment before his gaze wandered back up to meet Sherlock's. It was already obvious who the message was directed at, but John didn't want to jump to conclusions.

"She was right. There _is_ a man who loves me. Whose pulse rate accelerated to double the amount of beats it would normally and whose pupils dilated so large and so deeply as he touched my hand. That's what I was doing, checking whether she was right. And she was, John." John's face flushed a deep shade of pink.

Sherlock's hand brushed John's wrist once more. His fingers lingered over John's pulse and John realised how warm and gentle the contact was. He sighed noiselessly, allowing the bated breath to escape his lungs.

"Irene Adler claims that she loves me. She mistook her lust for love. She wants me because I am a mystery to her. She knows nothing of my true self. What I care for, who I live for, the dreams I have." Sherlock closed the gap between him and John even more so, his pale grey-green eyes drowning John's eyes in an emotion which neither of them had ever believed that he possessed.

"But you do." Sherlock finished, delicately fingering down John's wrist to claim his hand. He rubbed small circles into the back of his hand with his thumb and watched as John briefly shut his eyes, engrossed in desire. Sherlock took his final step forward, closing the gap between them entirely. His free hand clasped John's cheek, his touch sending flickers of vibrations across John's skin and he shuddered against Sherlock's embracing body.

Sherlock pressed his lips to John's forehead. To his cheek. To his chin. There was a pause in which John's eyes flickered open and his hands curled around Sherlock's waist.

John stepped back.

"She was right, Sherlock. I've never been gay, but you, Sherlock, you," John's pulse raise even more so. "You're different. You're...God...you're beautiful Sherlock Holmes. The most dashing, incredible, impossible man I've ever met." The blush on his face had reached a peak, he felt embarrassed, eyes down-cast, resting his head in the crick of Sherlock's ebony coloured neck.

The detective could clearly tell that his friend was not lying. On the contrary, his friend was allowing him to understand feelings that were hidden so deep within him that it felt almost pained him to release them. The detective raised his free hand to his neck and felt his own pulse. Double the normal amount of beats per minute. His face broke into a smile and he whispered against into John's ear.

"It would appear I feel the very same way about you."

Sherlock's lips pressed hard against John's almost knocking off his feet. There was not even a pause before John's lips were moving hurriedly against them and Sherlock's hands clutched both of his cheeks. John's tongue nervously skittered across his flatmate's lips however Sherlock allowed him admission almost instantaneously, opening his mouth with a quiet moan which sent tingles down John's spine. They battled for control, their bodies fitting perfectly together.

Sherlock pulled away from the kiss, hastily brushing his lips over John's jawline and trailing sweet, pure kisses along his neck. John groaned pleasurably and Sherlock absorbed the noise with delight, working faster and harder, his fingers locking harden behind his friend's neck.

They pulled apart what seemed like hours later, their eyes soaked in love and their bodies tingling with passionate emotions that they both couldn't quite put a name to. Both men, their torsos rising and falling heavily, made their way to the sofa. Sherlock lay down first and John curled into his body, one more resting his head into the crick of his neck, grasping a strand of the curly mess of hair on his head. They lay together in silence.

"I love you, but your heart is his."

"It is, Irene Adler, oh God, it is."


End file.
